


What Reaver Wants, Reaver Gets

by foundCarcosa



Category: Fable (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaver's tired of doing all the work in the bedroom. Simple, straightforward M/M action because my fellow RPers wanted it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Reaver Wants, Reaver Gets

 "Your Highness," and Logan's bloodshot eyes slide closed and his hand reaches up to cradle his forehead as soon as he hears the butler's cultured voice. "Your Highness, Master Reaver wishes to speak with you."

"Tell _Master Reaver_  I am busy."

But Master Reaver waits for no one, and Logan is too soon granted the _scintillating_  company of the budding industrialist. "Still in here _moping_ , I see..."

"Reaver, how many times do I have to tell you I'm not moping?" He scowls, pushes away from the desk where the parchment paperwork has been piling up. There's no point in sending him away, now that he's already here with that self-assured smirk of his. "I have things to do, you can't keep showing up like this..."

"Logan, _Lo_ gan." Reaver strolls behind his chair, ringed fingers stroking that very spot on the back of his neck where Auroran rock had scraped, and though the wound no longer ached, he still flinches. "Hackles down, love. I came to provide you with some much-needed... solace." Logan had taken off his armour and loosened the neck of his tunic before settling into his study; Reaver now slips his hands into the fine fabric, over Logan's chest, nails catching on tiny silver rings and dragging a hiss from the king's throat.  
Logan knows better than to protest.

"But I would like to re-negotiate terms." Reaver withdraws his hands, locks them behind his back, begins his nonchalant strolling around Logan's study. "We've been getting on quite well, yes. But you have such an _enticing_  little cock-- ooh, did I say _little_ , I didn't mean it in that sense, of course, don't give me that look. My point is, I feel quite deprived of its attentions, and I think it's time to rectify that."

Logan's gaze falters, and he flicks his eyes back to his lap. He's ceased being embarrassed by Reaver's frankness -- prolonged contact with the man dissolves one's sensibilities. But his suggestion...

"I... don't think I can do that."

Reaver wheels, faces him. His perfect brow arched incredulously, hands on his belted waist. "Pardon?" he questions quietly, as if daring Logan to repeat himself.

"I said, I don't think I can do that!"  
 _A quiet castle, the shuffling of servant feet subsiding and the flames sputtering in their sconces. Logan should be asleep as well, but nightmares of eyeless Children keep him awake and aware. He touches himself to distract himself, to get rid of the feverish energy, but too soon he flips on the mattress and grinds in hard. Drags the pillow under his belly and grips the top of it, imagines it's silky, fragrant, dark hair in his hands--_

"Whether you _think_ you can or not, Logan, I must insist that you do so," Reaver responds coolly, advancing towards him again with a switch in his hips that drags Logan's gaze downward. "I want you the way I want you, and I'll _have_ you the way I want you, you know this." Logan knows. He leans back in the chair, tries to think, tries to marshal up courage, but Reaver is not a patient man.

"I'll be in your chambers. Don't keep me waiting. Remember -- this is for you almost as much as it is for me. _Your Highness._ "

-x-

When Logan met the man called Reaver, he wasn't old enough to know why his mother kept her hands firmly on his shoulders and spoke to the man in anxious, brusque tones, or why she smoothed his hair back from his head that night and whispered words of warning. When she passed away, despite Logan's repetitive insistence that she was a Hero and therefore immortal, he had stared at Reaver, at that wax-figure complexion and those perfectly aligned features, and _hated_  him.

It didn't take long for Reaver to dissolve that hate. Reaver was intelligent in a dangerous way; he knew what ailed Logan, before Logan knew himself. But whereas those who truly loved would have sought to heal, Reaver, in his warped idea of affectionate leanings, sought to manipulate -- and Logan remained forever indebted to him, without knowing why.

 _"What do you want from me?" Logan had asked, in that tight, frustrated voice that made Reaver suck his teeth and shake his head pityingly. "You've taken all I've got!"_

 _"Oh, don't be melodramatic. There is so much more I can take from you. Cross me, love, and you'll see..."_

"So you finally deigned to join me," the man of the hour drawls as the chamber doors click shut behind Logan. "I was going to give you a reason to do laundry ahead of schedule." Reaver mimes the act of tossing himself off onto Logan's linens, and Logan flinches irritably.  
"Come here, now, come on... I've had all this time to think about how _good_ you'll feel inside me."

"Will you be quiet for a moment!" Logan rakes his hands through his hair and exhales gustily, colour rising to his high cheekbones, even as a smug Reaver saunters over to strip him.

"Oh? Still anxious...? What _is_ the problem, Logan? I already know you find me absolutely fetching. So why won't you fuck me?"

"I... there is no problem! I just... don't find it... necessary." His floundering spoke volumes, the charming orator suddenly reduced to faltering words and simple sentences. Reaver's dark eyes bore into him, and it isn't enough for Logan to avoid his gaze. Reaver still sees what Reaver wishes to see. When those cruel lips curve, Logan breathes in and prepares to be the pawn he's become.

"Not good enough to fuck me, are you. Reaver's to do all the work, Reaver with the golden cock and the well-oiled hips." He rolls said hips, half-erect cock brushing against Logan's thigh, before walking backwards and towards the bed. "What are you going to do when whatever attacked you in Aurora decides to come after you, hmm? Can you _fight_ , Logan? Can you defend your kingdom?"

"What does that have to--"

"All I require is you to take that pretty little curved cock of yours and put it in a warm, welcoming place. And you can't do that? You're too... _afraid_? I can't depend on a man who can't do something as instinctual as _fuck_ , Logan."

Logan flushes indignantly and closes the distance between them; his body stirs when Reaver leans back on the mattress, lithe white body nestled amongst the pillows--  
 _His breathing ragged and harsh, he thrusts into the pillow's bulk, hair falling into his face and obscuring his vision as the tight knot in his groin dissolves into what feels like molten lava. It's Reaver's hair in his fist, Reaver's shoulder into which his teeth sink as the moan builds in the back of his throat, and--_

"You look like a frightened little boy who's just seen something he wants, but can't have. And here I am, telling you that you _can_  have it, you _must_ , and yet... the little boy won't ever grow up, will he?" Reaver's tone is mocking, taunting, and Logan wants nothing more than for him to be _quiet_  so he digs his knees into the mattress and pulls Reaver's legs like wheelbarrow handles, pulls him tight into his own body, and Reaver smiles that smug little smile, but Logan is beyond caring.

"You think you know everything," Logan mutters, brow furrowed in concentration; he's hard and he's more than ready, but his clinical mind has kicked in and overwhelmed instinct. _What do I do_ , he wants to ask, but he knows Reaver will laugh and he has no desire to hit Reaver, but he will if Reaver laughs.

And Reaver laughs anyway, without provocation.  
Flushing furiously, Logan pulls his hand back and the slap is sharp and resounding against Reaver's lily-white face.  
"I- I told you not to--" Logan stutters, attempting damage control, but Reaver's smug little smile is back, framed on one side by faint pink lines. Logan is, if possible, harder than he was before, and Reaver wriggles in his grasp, and Logan finds himself nestled in the crack of Reaver's ass.

The man beneath him doesn't speak again, just encourages him with his eyes, and that's fine with Logan.

Still feeling the soft flesh of Reaver's face against his fingers, he ceases thinking. He ceases being the king of Albion, the burdened firstborn, the anxious people-pleaser, and becomes the taut, silken flesh that prods at a ring of muscle that slowly gives way. He becomes slowly rolling hips and nipples that flare with sensation when Reaver pulls on the rings in them; he groans louder than he usually dares when the man beneath him throws his head back and arches his hips up, pulling Logan in deeper.  
Logan is subtly amazed, through his haze of arousal, when he realises he is wholly inside Reaver, and Reaver is tight around him and squeezing gently, and the man's eyes are glazed with pleasure. "Ah, _there's_ a lad," he murmurs thickly. "Now fuck me."

But Logan is through taking commands. He pulls out slowly, watching as his flesh is exposed inch by inch -- naked flesh, and he winces at his lack of vigilance in using protection with this man of all men, but he could flog himself for his sins later -- watching and feeling the ring of muscle tighten around him as if in protest.  
When Reaver moans in impatience, he slams back in, gripping Reaver's ass and keeping him in place.  
This is not at all like his fantasy, not at all like the unresponsive mounds of goose-down and linen. He loses himself in thrusting, a slow roll increasing in momentum, his timbrous groans merging with Reaver's breathy sighs and coos of encouragement, their skin becoming slick and flushed.

Reaver stretches luxuriously, his torso undulating and his hips rotating around Logan's cock, his arms thrown out and his hands curling into the bed-linens. His sighs evolve into telling moans, and Logan thrusts harder, bucking upwards in a certain manner because when he'd done that last, Reaver had squirmed and shuddered in a most fetching manner. Now he gasps and grits his teeth, arching, pushing back with every thrust, and Logan hasn't touched Reaver's cock once but it still swells and releases silver-white strings over Reaver's heaving chest.

It takes the gasping of his name for Logan to follow in climax, his fingers digging into Reaver's flesh and leaving noticeable impressions, his eyes shut tight and his teeth gritted; he can't draw breath to make a sound, and the moan builds and builds in his chest. As his muscles unclench and the tension melts out of them, he sags, his fists planted in the mattress on either side of Reaver's shoulders, and the moan finally escapes him on his gusty exhale.

"That was... well, I approve. Greatly," Reaver breathes, idly flicking one of Logan's nipple rings just to feel his cock twitch one last time as it softens. Logan slips out and lets himself fall onto his back next to him. He stares at the bed's canopy until its quilted pattern blurs.

Reaver compliments his technique every time Logan takes him in the future, and responds well, and comes back for it often. _"Don't you like being in control?"_ he purrs as he pulls Logan down on top of him, ensnaring him between his legs.  
 _"Don't you like being in control?"_ he asks as he manipulates Logan into giving him just one more thing he wants.


End file.
